


Terminated Clone's Armoured Boots

by Llama



Category: Paranoia (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Llama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promotion, clone style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terminated Clone's Armoured Boots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [debirlfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/debirlfan/gifts).



> **Warning:** Your Happiness Officer would like to remind you that it is the responsibility of every citizen to ensure they have the correct security clearance to read this file. 
> 
> _Any resemblance to clones online or terminated is completely coincidental. No Funbots were harmed in the making of this story._
> 
> The cast: 
> 
> Ava-R-ISS – Team Leader  
> Diff-R-RNT – Happiness Officer  
> Murd-R-RUS – Equipment Officer  
> Rob-R-REE - our, um, hero. Sort of.

Rob-R-REE might be the youngest on his team of troubleshooters, but he wasn't out of the vat yesterdaycycle. 

“Take 'dis,” Murd said, dropping the heaviest piece of scrap metal Rob had ever seen into his arms. “Hur hur, I tink it's bigger 'dan you!”

“That's the spirit, Murd.” Dippy Diff wafted past with a beatific smile. There was no way that shit was for real. “Turn that frown upside down, now, Robbie baby!”

Rob forced his lips into a semblance of a grin. Diff blew him a cheerful kiss and went on his merry way, apparently satisfied. 

Team Leaders were a lot less easy to please. “Is there a problem, sweetie?” Ava's voice had been compared to warm honey, but Rob thought of it as more like oil. Though that wasn't really fair to oil; he was no expert, but as far as he was aware oil had never been known to call you 'Darling sweetheart honeypie' in one breath and stab you in the back the next. With a smile.

“It's... a bit... heavy,” Rob admitted. He didn't want to, but it was making him sag at the knees already. There was no way he was going to be able to carry this on a mission.

Ava's brow creased. “Friend Computer put Murd in charge of weapons acquisition. Are you saying that was a bad decision?”

Shit. “No no no!” Staying upright and keeping a smile on his face was hard work when he was panicking, but Ava looked a little less like she was about to denounce him as a traitor than she had five seconds ago, so he kept going. “Um, it must mean I need to do more physical exercise to keep up with the demands of troubleshooting, Team Leader. Perhaps I can organise some exercises for the team, keep us all in tip top shape so we can better serve the Computer!”

It occurred to him too late that it could be taken as implied criticism of the team if she chose to be difficult, but fortunately for him Ava seemed delighted.

“Excellent idea, sweetpea,” she said, and pinched his cheeks. “Keep this up and maybe I can recommend you for Team Health Officer eventually.” She hummed to herself a little. “That'd put a WundaSpanna in Eric-R's works, all right. She doesn't have one of those.”

Oh yes, sugary endearments and imaginary petty feuds with other team leaders. Ava was all class.

She wasn't Rob's main concern right now, however. 

 

Thanks to certain _ahem_ contacts, who were _in no way at all_ secret, or a society, because that would be illegal in the extreme, Rob had acquired a nice little stash of much-coveted Asset Realignment Forms. See, even that proved he'd be perfect for Murd's job.

All he was going to do was make things as they should be. 

It was a simple matter to find a corridor with overlooked storage space near their Troubleshooter Team Quarters, and even simpler to make sure Murd, and Murd alone, saw him looking shifty and heading down to add to his little collection late one evening.

“I knew you was up to no good!” Murd said triumphantly, his coarse face twisted into a greedy leer. “Where'd you nick all 'dis from, scumbag?”

“All requisitioned perfectly legally,” Rob said, surveying his extensive store of goods proudly. He turned a sneer on Murd, making his contempt as convincing as he could. It wasn't hard. “I think when Ava sees this, she'll see the wisdom of promoting me to Equipment Officer and giving you the boot, don't you?”

“I don't fink that's going to 'appen,” Murd said, picking up a mini Funbot and weighing it in one large fist. Rob hoped for the best as he hit the floor and the world went dark.

 

“Murd has done us proud,” Ava said, beaming more broadly than the happily nodding Diff for a change. “So I'm happy to present him with this commendation for--”

She stopped as the unmistakable _thump thump thump_ of troubleshooter armoured boots echoed down the corridor. 

Eric-R's team came to a halt in the doorway moments later. Eric-R tossed her curly blonde hair over her shoulder, and Rob suppressed a snigger at the way Ava ground her teeth at the sight.

“Clone Murd-R-RUS, we have been instructed to take you to the Termination Facility for interrogation.” Eric-R smiled. “Naughty, naughty.”

Murd must have used up his quota of quick(ish) thinking for this clone, because his mouth was just hanging open. 

Ava wasn't faring much better. “But-- what?” she blustered, still holding the commendation medal that Murd was never going to get his paws on now.

“Forgery of Asset Realignment Forms is a very serious matter,” Eric-R said, but she didn't look too distressed by it herself. “I do hope this naughty boy's treachery doesn't reflect too poorly on his Team Leader...”

Now there was a thought. Rob filed it away for later. 

In the meantime...

“Get rid of this,” Ava spat at him, shoving the commendation medal at him as they marched Murd from the room. “Find yourself an Equipment Officer uniform, and then BLOODY WELL FIND ME SOME MORE EQUIPMENT!”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Rob said cheerfully. He could afford to smile now. On his way to the stores he slipped a note under an unremarkable, unmarked, but still securely locked door, before going on his way with an obnoxiously chirpy whistle. 

Mission Accomplished.


End file.
